How To Say Goodbye
by Flanna
Summary: Andrew is lonely, stuck with the memory of dead friends. Xander gets closer to him one night, and makes him want to move on. (Slash)


Title: How To Say Goodbye  
Author: Flanna  
Rating: PG  
Pairing: Xander/Andrew (Xandrew?)  
Spoilers: Buffy season 7, "First Date"  
Disclaimers: You know very well I own nothing having to do with Buffy, including Andrew and Xander and any other characters mentioned.   
* * *  
  
One would think, on the Hellmouth, that the supposed witching hour would be a time of oppressive fear and squiggy feelings and that kind of stuff. Course, that time is never so much of a problem as the hours before dawn. In the Summers house, full of excited youths and talk of big problems with big evil, there was usually at least one or two up roaming the house just past midnight. That's comforting, you know? People you know are truly alive and un-evil wandering around.  
  
But then they all go to sleep, and I'm asleep too usually. And inside, the house gets quiet and lonely but no one's ever awake to care.  
  
Sometimes I'm awake and I feel so alone I wanna... I dunno, hang myself, or something. It's then that I think about how Warren's dead and Jonathan's dead and no one here really likes me. The Slayer is civil to me, and I guess Dawn's pretty nice. And Xander and I talk sometimes. The other girls talk to me but I don't know half their names and I'd be surprised if half of them knew mine. So sometimes I think how useless and waste-of-spaceish and completely alone I am, and think I wanna go join Warren and Jonathan.  
  
Fortunately for me, tonight's not a night like that. Tonight I'm just more uneasy than depressed. And not even full of terror or anything. Just mildly un-at-ease.  
  
'Cause like, knowing The First could show up at any time, in any place, made me feel wiggy. Earlier today, it'd dressed itself up like Jonathan and tried to guilt me into following its orders. My stomach was still all anxious still but my hands had stopped shaking enough to hold the magazine: a copy of YM lent to me by Dawn.  
  
Enlightening stuff. The teenage girl was even harder to fathom than the average extradimensional demonic lifeform.  
  
Part of the problem, this jittery feeling, *probably* was that I was still awake. Suddenly the clock struck four in the morning, a rerun of Conan O'Brien was on the TV, and I hadn't slept in, like, a smillion hours. The thought that I'd wake up to Jonathan's rotting stare kept my eyes from closing for more than a few minutes at a time.  
  
So here I was in the middle of the night with only Conan for company. That was gonna change, moments later.  
  
"That was really cool, you know. Standing up to The First."  
  
The voice made me jump. I didn't even hear anyone walk over, so engaged in YM was I (that's sarcasm, by the way). It was Xander, as red-eyed as me and clad in blue flannel pajamas. "Thank you," I said, and asked, "What're you doing still up?"  
  
He sat down next to me and turned the volume on the TV up. He gestured with the remote. "I worship that man," he stated with all sincerity, grinning.  
  
Well of *course* you do. Doesn't everyone worship Conan? "Once, I thought about starting a religious cult devoted to Conan O'Brien, but..." But my friends are dead. "...things came up."  
  
"I'd so join. I'd join, *and* bring the Mountain Dew."  
  
Things got quiet. I shut the magazine, unwilling to finish reading about THE Ten Signs He Digs You, and set it on the floor. Xander was giggling at something ridiculous and obscene on TV, but I was still having trouble finding the humor in things. Even a god like Conan was failing to make me laugh.  
  
"So how's the, uh, the gaying? How's that going?" I asked.  
  
Like.. okay, that didn't just come out of nowhere. I know it's an odd thing to ask, but we'd sorta been discussing it earlier after Xander had been on a near-splattery date. Erm. Not *that* kinda splattery. The bloody kind.  
  
Almost everyone knew Xander had homoish tendencies. He didn't have to confirm anything; I mean, I've only known him semi-closely for a few weeks, and it's pretty obvious the boy's not exactly straight as a lightsaber.  
  
Xander sighed. "Not so good." He smirked in that ever-so-Xandery way and raised an eyebrow. "Got any tips for me?"  
  
"Ah.." I stared down at my fingers for a moment. Well, let's see... "You should take down the poster of Alyssa Milano. I think it's a bad influence."  
  
He held a palm out like a notepad and feigned writing the tip down. "Got it. I'll steal Dawn's poster of Legolas to stick in the empty spot."  
  
I tried not to squeal. "Good call!"  
  
"Next tip?"  
  
And so it went, Conan all but forgotten. I trotted out the stereotypes and found myself laughing along with Xander. It was decided he should stop buying clothes at Walmart. And as gay as he was going to be, there would be no Streisand under any circumstances. We agreed on the utter hotness of Tom Welling, but disagreed on which member of the Fellowship we'd most like to shag.  
  
In the back of my mind there was still the idea - no, the knowledge really, of the fact - that The First was still watching me. On the bright side (as bright as a side could be in this situation), at least it wasn't watching me through Jonathan's dead eyes.   
  
If I never saw his decaying face again... like, in real life, that is, because I'm certain I'll always see it in every guilty nightmare...   
  
Nuts. Just when I'd mostly gotten rid of the gremlins, they came bouncing back to the front of my brain.  
  
"I," stated Xander, head up high, "will make a mah-velous gay male."  
  
"Well," I said, suddenly sounding and feeling awkward, "There's the whole boy-kissing thing. How are you on that?"  
  
Xander got quiet then. He looked all - all sparky, electric, and it was like I could read his mind. I bit my lip and started fidgeting with the hem of my sweater.  
  
"Are you offering?" He asked, his voice low and thick, but with a sort of shyness in it.  
  
Xander is... Well, I find Xander very kissable. He's got that nice dark hair and penetrating eyes, like Warren had. (In the back of my mind here I see Jonathan's eye loose and protruding from its socket) And - (I shake Jonathan from my mind again) - and I like talking to Xander, when he's, like, receptive to it and not ignoring me.  
  
His arm curled around the back of my neck like a warm, plaid snake. He was leaning closer, and I sooo wanted to kiss him because I'd never noticed how soft his lips were, and his eyes were sort of narrowed at me, and I felt like my breath had been pressed out of me...  
  
"No... no..." Instead I struggled away and curled up in the corner of the sofa, as far from him as I could get. "No, I can't, I'm ah... not really ready..." It was something like that, what I'd said, but I was babbling and can't recall exactly what came out.  
  
Xander, scarlet-cheeked, backed off away from me. There was an uncomfortable silence for a few moments, then he broke it by clearing his throat and asking, "Not ready?"  
  
I shook my head. "I haven't - " Uninvited, an image of ethereal lips brushing over my chin came to mind. " - haven't kissed anyone since... since Warren." Taking a deep breath, I shut the vision out of my mind. Remember what I'd said earlier? About the First using guilt against me? Last time, it had seduced me with love. I'd actually thought it was Warren, come back to me from beyond the grave. All that love-is-forever, death-won't-part-us romantic stuff. "I'm not ready to let go of... of the memory, that that was my last kiss."  
  
Like some imprint of Warren was still on my lips, in my mouth, and I couldn't bear to part with it even though it'd been months and months since he'd died. Not even The First could take that away from me. It'd kissed me, with Warren's face on, but couldn't touch me. I'd felt nothing but a rush of love and desire and loss.  
  
"I''m sorry," I said quietly.  
  
Slowly, Xander nodded. Then he coughed and gave a crooked smile and said, "I was only kidding, anyway. With the kissing thing."  
  
"Liar," I muttered.  
  
"Yes," he conceded with a nod, "Yes I am. But only to save my own skin, you understand."  
  
If I died, would the First use my appearance to get to Xander? Like it did with Warren, to me? That thought occured to me and went away just as fast. Just one of those things that comes into your head at the most ungodly of hours.  
  
"So." I said after another stretch of silence.  
  
He slid to his feet and stretched. Xander wouldn't look at me, he just kept glancing around the room, at the floor, at Conan. "So..." Finally he looked at me and gave a small, shy smile. "Guess I'll do some sheep-counting, and leave you to your, uh. Yeah."  
  
Suddenly then, I felt really, really dumb. Like, just earlier I was bitching about not having any friends around, and here was Xander - handsome Xander with the construction worker body - trying to get to know me better. In a kissy-type way.  
  
Never was I gonna be able to kiss Warren again, and it hit me then, as Xander was avoiding my gaze, that I needed to get over it.  
  
"Xander," I said, shaky-voiced and dry-mouthed, "Wait."  
  
"Yeah?" *So* cute - he put his hands in the pockets of his pajama pants and sort of rocked on the balls of his feet.  
  
Once I was standing, I launched myself at Xander and threw my arms around his neck. He sucked in a breath; I must've moved so fast I surprised him somewhat, but he wrapped his arms around my waist and I planted a passionate smooch on Xander's mouth. And he kissed back, pushing his lips against mine. It wasn't tentative at all, it was like we both knew what we wanted, but there was no tongue or groping or anything like that.   
  
When we moved apart our lips were all slick and our faces flushed and I felt better than I could remember feeling ever. I giggled and nuzzled my face against Xander's neck. I knew he was smiling, and could feel him rubbing my back in small strokes.  
  
Did I ever feel so fluffy around Warren? I couldn't remember, and didn't even want to think about it.  
  
Xander moved back slowly and kissed me quickly on the forehead. "Night, Andrew."  
  
When Xander was gone, I sprawled out on the couch. I couldn't focus on Conan, so I closed my eyes and tried to sleep. There weren't any more thoughts of The First that night, or Warren, or Jonathan's blood on my hands, and when I woke up a few hours later I just thought of kissing Xander and drifted off to sleep again.  
  
That's it. There's no dramatic ending. This, however, could be a dramatic beginning.  
  
...Is that last line too corny? It's kinda poetical I think... maybe I'll ask Xander if he likes it.  
  
* * * 


End file.
